


saviour

by superfluouskeys



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 08:52:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11917422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superfluouskeys/pseuds/superfluouskeys
Summary: Rage always found her first, and Despair followed close behind.





	saviour

_The soldiers of the Andrastians are on the approach_ , her Keeper had warned her when she'd stormed off earlier, and so when she heard rustling in the trees she had not expected corrupted spirits.

Rage always found her, bright and blustering, and it sang to her whether she fought it or tried to run away.  Elonaya was a skilled mage—would not have been named First for any other virtue—but suddenly there were more, too many, and Rage burned her hands when it begged for her body, and Despair followed close behind, ravaging whatever Rage had not managed to touch first.

She was hit, hot and cold all at once, and her staff was deposited next to her, cracked.  She scrambled to her feet, but she was not a person who turned and ran often, and so she had little practice.  Terror found her then, all darkness and claws, tearing across a battlefield before its victim had even noticed its arrival.

A sword tore through Terror, and a goddess of destruction stood in its wake.  She bore the armour of the Andrastians, the bulk and sternness of a well-trained warrior, and once Terror had been felled, she sheathed her shield and sword and she offered her arm to Elonaya.

Too numb to feel fear, Elonaya took the proffered hand and stood.  "Ma serannas," she said with a bow.  Then, reluctantly, for the sake of the shemlen who had saved her, she amended, "My thanks."

"You are Dalish," said the shem, with a voice rich like honey, tongue accented in a manner Elonaya recognized but could not place.  "Are you of Clan Lavellan?"

Elonaya withdrew her hand, regained her guard.  She noticed for the first time that the goddess in steel was not alone.  "I was told your people were coming," she said.  "We want no part in your holy war."

"Holy war," echoed the shemlen, taken aback.

"My people have shown nothing but cooperation with the humans," said Elonaya, more firmly now that they stood on more even footing, "but I as their First will not allow you to use them to your ends."

"You misunderstand," said the shemlen, shaking her head.  "Let me start again.  I am Cassandra Pentaghast.  I have come on behalf of Divine Justinia in the hopes of _preventing_ a war."

Elonaya narrowed her eyes.  _Why would I trust your Andrastian leaders_ , she almost snapped, but remembered her position and swallowed the retort.  She took the hand the shemlen offered for the second time.  "Elonaya, of Clan Lavellan," she said.  "Pray tell me, what is it you seek with my people?"

"I am looking for the Champion of Kirkwall," said Cassandra.

Elonaya's frown deepened.  She had been in the Free Marches long enough to hear a few wild tales out of the city-state called Kirkwall, but could not fathom why her clan's name would be associated with any of them.  "Why do you seek her with us?"

"She had a...friend, an associate, something.  A Dalish elf called Merrill, whose..." Cassandra waved her hand vaguely, "clan...stayed in this area.  For a long time."

"Merrill of Clan Sabrae?" Elonaya raised her eyebrows.  Elonaya had never met her, but her reputation preceded her.  The story went that she got her Keeper killed dabbling in blood magic.  "My people would not deal with her," she said simply.  "I will escort you to my Keeper if you wish, shemlen, and I assure you my people will show you an excess of hospitality.  But I do not believe we have anything of use to you in your mission."

Cassandra's frown deepened.  "Perhaps I ought to escort you," she replied.  "We have encountered unusually high numbers of demons in our travels."

Rage always found her, white-hot and overwhelming, and it threatened to spill over at the insinuation.  She was a skilled mage—would not have been named First for any other virtue—and she would not be condescended to by this glittering quickchild who traveled Thedas chasing after a blood mage and a bit of overblown fiction.

"Out of respect for my Keeper's wishes," she bit out at last, "I will ignore that insult."

And then something surprising happened—the shemlen's face softened.  "I...did not mean it as an insult.  I apologize."

* * *

 

The Keeper of course invited Cassandra and her soliders to stay the night.  He had a bizarre love for humans that seemed to Elonaya to eclipse his love for his own people.  He called for everyone to pool their resources into a feast for their esteemed visitors, and leveled Elonaya with a fearsome glower when she made to protest such a luxury.

Elonaya didn't remember the last time she'd been able to enjoy such an occasion.  Desperate for a place in her clan that no one could contest, she had trained early and hard to be taken on as the Keeper's apprentice.  She knew how supplies tended to ebb and flow by seasons, and she felt the chill in the air and the dryness in the grass between her toes that told her they would pay for this indulgence in the weeks to come.

Cassandra, too, seemed overwhelmed by the display, and while her men gathered around the roaring fire with the clan, Elonaya watched Cassandra back away into the shadows where she'd settled herself by design.

"Oh..." Cassandra uttered when she noticed Elonaya.  "I..."

Elonaya considered her a moment, then gestured to the empty spot next to her.  Cassandra obliged in silence, cradling nothing but an apple in her hand.

"I hate to put your people out in such a way," said Cassandra after a moment's silence.  "I am sure...it must be difficult, to live the way you do.  I'm sure supplies are not so easy to come by.  But I feared it would be rude to refuse."

Elonaya averted her eyes, focused on the flames of the fire and the way it lit up the faces of the people around it, from the disparate designs of Vallaslin to the barefaced children and humans.  "My Keeper is happy to have you here," she said.

"But you are not," Cassandra guessed.  Ordinarily such a comment would irritate Elonaya, but when Cassandra spoke the words, she did not seem cloying or pointed.  She was not begging for a reprieve from the inconvenience of her presence, but rather stating a fact as she observed it.

"My Keeper understands indulgence better than I," said Elonaya.  "He knows how to see an unusual occurrence as something to celebrate.  If he goes hungry awhile later, he will still remember the celebration fondly."

Cassandra was watching her, but she did not speak.  There was raucous chatter not a few paces from them, but this place they'd carved out for themselves seemed strangely quiet.

"If it were up to me," Elonaya confessed, "I would never find cause to celebrate.  In truth I think his way is better."

After that admission, it was as though something had broken between them, and they talked more, about other matters, just as Elonaya was sure her Keeper was doing with Cassandra's men.  Cassandra asked about Elonaya's responsibilities and how they had fallen to her, and Elonaya asked about Cassandra's history and what she was truly hoping to accomplish.

"There is to be a Conclave," Cassandra told her.  "The situation is becoming...difficult.  I expect if the meeting does not go well, that will be the last chance for peace."

"Why bring the Champion of Kirkwall into it?" Elonaya wondered, far more amiably than she had the first time.  "Honestly I didn't even know she was a real person, but...the stories I've heard don't make her sound like a person you'd call for a diplomatic venture."

Cassandra made a low noise somewhere between disapproval and amusement.  "No," she agreed.  "But I must try.  She is a hero, a person mages would listen to.  I..." her frown deepened.  "Well.  I do not know many people mages would listen to."

"I'm listening to you, aren't I?" Elonaya dared a sideways glance, the faintest beginnings of a smile.

Cassandra turned wide, dark eyes upon her.  "Oh," she said simply.

Elonaya's smile fell.  "I thought templars were supposed to be able to tell."

"I am not a templar," said Cassandra.

"There are other kinds of Andrastian soldiers?" Elonaya wondered, quite genuinely.  It occurred to her belatedly that it could have sounded like an insult, but Cassandra did not seem offended.  Indeed, she didn't quite smile, but her face softened again, and she made that same sound that was somewhere between disapproval and amusement, and then she told Elonaya about the Seekers of Truth.

Sounded a bit like an Andrastian cult to Elonaya, but she wisely managed not to say that aloud.

* * *

 

The next morning, Elonaya rose to find Cassandra already training just outside the camp.  She went about her morning chores as usual, but could not quite keep her eyes away entirely.  Watching warriors train could be exciting, or it could be profoundly boring, but Cassandra was something else entirely.  She threw her entire body into each stance, each transition, each pattern, and the bared muscles of her arms glistened with sweat in the early morning light.

She stopped short when she noticed Elonaya watching her, and Elonaya noticed that she had thoroughly abandoned gathering the ash from the previous night's fire in favour of watching, bucket held aloft, possibly open-mouthed in awe.

Cassandra averted her eyes, grew suddenly awkward as she drew an arm across her brow.  Elonaya returned to scooping ash out of the fire pit, but faltered when Cassandra approached.

"You're...kind of a force of nature, aren't you?" Elonaya said, before she'd thought better of it, and then felt herself flush hot as she recommitted herself to the highly important task of scooping ash.

"Hm," said Cassandra, unhelpfully.  "You flatter me."

"Wasn't trying," said Elonaya with a shrug.

There was a beat of silence, in which Elonaya did not dare meet Cassandra's eyes.  "Is there anything I can do to help?" Cassandra asked her.

 _You could throw me in the river_.  "You could throw this in the river," she thrust the bucket filled with ash in Cassandra's direction, still not quite looking at her.  "If you really wanted something to do.  But there's no need, if you want to get back to your...training."

"Perhaps..." Cassandra began slowly, "you ought to escort me."

Elonaya dared to look up at long last, and was unsurprised to find herself ill-prepared for the sight.  Cassandra's short, dark hair hung damp across her forehead, her face still glowing from the exertion of her routine, accentuating her sharp features, and her dark eyes were alight as though with a secret.  "In the interest of safety, of course," Cassandra amended.

Elonaya's eyes narrowed.  "I expect you can handle yourself," she said skeptically.

"As can you," said Cassandra.  "But there is strength in numbers."

Elonaya dared a smile then, or perhaps a forgotten fragment of the expression.  She could hardly remember the last time it had come so easily to her.

* * *

 

Rage always found her, dark and smouldering, and it sang to her whether she fought it or tried to run away.

 _You want to leave so badly, then leave_ , her Keeper said to her.  _Make yourself useful while you're gone_.

But the cities were loud and teeming with shemlen, and the only elves she saw were barefaced and downtrodden and looked upon her with just as much mistrust as any other.  She had no stake in this would-be war of human forces and saw no reason her clan or her people should look for one when they had troubles enough all on their own.

She wandered through halls made of stone and ceilings so high that every footstep echoed too loud, every voice seemed to be shouting, and maybe someone _was_ shouting, shouting for help, but what could Elonaya do?  She could not help herself, could not help her people, could not understand what she was meant to be doing here.  What could she do but to run after a voice like a corrupted spirit and a voice shouting for help and throw open the doors and brandish her staff, and call out, as though her words bore weight?

"What's going on here?"

* * *

 

She awoke to darkness, and to pain.

She was on her knees, wrists shackled to the stone floor, and the ceilings were so high that every sound echoed too loud, every breath felt monumental.  Lightning crackled in the palm of her hand, green and sickly and wrong, like a poison crawling up through her veins.

Somewhere a door swung open, and light overwhelmed her.  Too-loud click and creak of heavy metal, too-loud echo of heavy footfalls, and Elonaya was still blinking and squinting and begging for something, anything, to come into focus, when someone spoke, with a voice rich like honey and harsh like the edge of a blade.

"Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now."


End file.
